


Unjust, Weak, Resentful (But Never Inconstant)

by Attila



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant Through First Season, F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attila/pseuds/Attila
Summary: “What, her?” says a voice Adora knows as well as the heft of a sword in her hand. “Did you see her?” A laugh, just as familiar, sharp and mean. “I swear, if they hadn’t said her name, I wouldn’t even have recognized her.”Scenes from aPersuasion-style future.





	Unjust, Weak, Resentful (But Never Inconstant)

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from the letter Captain Wentworth sends Anne at the end of Persuasion, but I promise, absolutely no actual knowledge of Persuasion is necessary to read this fic. Fic is canon compliant with the first season of the show, but nothing else (because right now, that's all there is! But I look forward to that changing), so this will undoubtedly be thoroughly jossed once anything else comes out.

_Princess Council Chambers at Bright Moon, two days before Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

“And, ah, remember,” Queen Angella says, looking deeply uncomfortable. It sits poorly on her, the faintly luminescent lines of her face wanting to reform into regal majesty, instead of this—this awkward grimace. “Adora, darling…”

Adora sinks down into her seat and tries to merge with the cushions. “I _know_ ,” she says. Despite her best efforts, it comes out as a whine. She feels a familiar urge to turn into She-Ra and tries to ignore it, but she finds herself half-reaching for her sword anyway when she sees Netossa and Spinerella exchange a look.

“She knows, Mom,” Glimmer repeats immediately, always the first to have her back, shoring up her weak side. “Adora’s got this! Don’t worry.”

Adora sits up straight and tries to look like she has, in fact, got this. Angella eyes her and then smiles tightly. “Of course she does. I know you’ll—I know you’ll rise to the occasion, Adora.”

“Yeah!” Bow says brightly, never needing instruction to help hold the defensive line. “Don’t worry.”

Each time they remind everyone else not to, Adora starts worrying a little more.

#

Here’s the thing: ever since the war ended, Adora hasn’t known what to do with herself.

She hadn’t been ready for it. No one had expected it when one day Catra and Princess Scorpia had announced that they’d supplanted Hordak, taken over leadership of the Horde and Scorpia’s country, and entered into a formal alliance with Entrapta where they were in charge and she got to do science. And _then_ that actually, two kingdoms were quite enough for them, as it turned out, so unless anyone else felt like keeping the war going, did they want a peace treaty? Yes? Lovely.

Everyone had been on tenterhooks for months, a year, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but somehow, impossibly, it hadn’t. The Princesses of the Fright Zone, as people had started calling them—even though, as Glimmer reminds them often, Catra isn’t a princess—had kept to their borders. They’d started doing a brisk trade with anyone who’d look twice at them: incredible technology for flour and sugar. Reconstructive labor in exchange for the latest fashions.

Frosta had said yes first, with a scowl that had dared anyone to gainsay her, and then the rest of them had fallen in line, one by one. And Adora had found herself…extraneous. A weapon no one particularly needed anymore, mostly ceremonial and awkward to have around, except they couldn’t even hang her over the mantel. And she’d tried to help, but after the tenth or so time she’d tried to rescue someone just having a pleasant debate over the price of fish or ruined a field trying to plow it or exploded a ruin someone had been exploring—well. They were very polite about it. It would have been nicer if they hadn’t been.

She knows what Angella is so uncomfortably worried about, what Spinerella and Netossa are convinced is coming: She-Ra, Princess of Destruction.

No one else, Adora’s learning, had to be _ready_ for peace.

 

 

_Ballroom at Bright Moon Palace, first day of Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

The opening ceremonies for the Fifth Anniversary of the Accords are—they’re fine. Adora’s an accessory, as far as she can tell. Something to make a statement, an extra gem to add to the glittering palace in Bright Moon. They could probably get the same effect, with less stress, by adding a few more shining decorations that reflect the light _almost_ into their visitors’ eyes.

Still, Adora fixes a smile to her face as she and the other princesses are formally announced, standing in a united semi-circle flanking Queen Angella. Across them, standing casually twenty paces from the throne, Catra and Scorpia and Entrapta look entirely comfortable, as if they’d never attacked this place. Catra, the only one here not even slightly royal, is in the center, meeting the queen’s eyes steadily as Entrapta tries to look everywhere at once and Scorpia beams at them all.

When she’s announced, Adora flexes her hands behind her back. “Catra,” she says evenly, politely, perfectly— _she’s_ not going to be the one who screws this up. It’s not going to be _her_ who makes a scene when she’s been reminded five times today alone that this is a celebration, not a brawl. If something goes wrong, it’s not going to be _Adora_ who started it—

“Oh,” Catra says, eyes flicking over to her—up and down, a onceover that can’t last more than a second and a half. “Hey, Adora.”

And then she turns away.

#

“Remind me why this thing has to last so long?” Adora murmurs to Glimmer as they walk, arm in arm, into the ballroom. “They’re going to be here for _weeks_.”

“Because five years deserves a celebration!” Glimmer says cheerfully. “Besides, it’s fun! Aren’t you having fun? Er, Adora, you are having fun, aren’t you?”

The obvious concern makes Adora want to curl up into a tiny ball of gratitude and embarrassment. “Of course!” she says immediately, letting her eyes go big and eager and hopefully genuine. “What wouldn’t be, um, fun about this? This is just—look how nice everything looks! Look how nice _you_ look! Huh, I wonder where Bow is?”

Glimmer glares at her, her eyes saying, clear as anything, ‘nice try.’ Years of friendship are a bad foundation for lying, apparently. “A _dora_ ,” she hisses. “I am not stupid. Stop freaking out!  It’s been five years; they’re not going to do anything or make any trouble. Don’t—” She stops, looking horrified with herself, but Adora can hear the rest of the sentence loud and clear. _Don’t ruin this._ Glimmer shakes her head. “Don’t be so tense!” She laughs, a little desperate sounding, trying to cover up the slip.

“Um,” Adora says. “Yeah. I will do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to, um. Go get some food. From over there.”

“Adora, wait, I’m sorry—”

Adora flees. She doesn’t quite hide, but she does stand behind a pillar, in one of the only dark spots in the room, and when some people pass, she draws herself in, tight and unobtrusive. In fact, she’s not totally sure how what she’s doing _isn’t_ hiding, but it’s definitely materially distinct in some very important way. She eats a few cupcakes she swiped from one of the refreshment tables on her mad dash away from Glimmer and stays quiet, listening to snippets of conversation as guests walk around the room.

“Queen Angella is looking so beautiful, I almost thought—”

“—these cakes—”

“—that Princess Mermista, did you hear, she said—”

“—seeing Adora again?”

Adora sucks in a breath and shifts on her feet, debating going elsewhere to avoid overhearing something she isn’t meant to.

“What, her?” says a voice she knows as well as the heft of a sword in her hand. “Did you see her?” A laugh, just as familiar, sharp and mean. “I swear, if they hadn’t said her name, I wouldn’t even have recognized her.”

“Catra,” says—Scorpia, it must be Scorpia, Adora’s numb brain supplies.

“Oh, look, It’s Princess Perfuma. Come on, let’s make nice. I want better trade rates on their fruits and vegetables. Two kingdoms and somehow no arable land, _honestly_.”

Her voice fades as they walk away, though Adora finds herself unwillingly straining to catch the last fading caustic tones. She can’t seem to move. Her feet are rooted to the floor; the line of her spine is as rigid as the stone it’s pressed against. The last cupcake is crumbled and crushed in a fist she doesn’t remember making.

She got shot once, during the war. She’d found her mind focusing in on inconsequential details, like the scratchy fabric of her shirt, bunched uncomfortably under one arm when she’d fallen to the ground. She’d been in pain, too, but it was as if she’d simply filed that away along with her shirt and the way her hair had gotten into her mouth and the look of the horizon, way out ahead of her. She stands there, the cupcake damp and soft in one hand, the cold flagstone of the pillar leeching the warmth out of the other. She thinks that if, after the shot had split her open, someone had reached into the wound to scrape her insides clean, it would have felt a little like this.

 

 

_A field in Plumeria, fourth day of Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

It’s impossible, Adora thinks, for the sound of Catra and Perfuma’s laughter to literally be following her around. She digs the point of a stick into the ground, reaching for peace or serenity or an emotion other than unadulterated fury, and tries to pay attention to Mermista and pretend she’s enjoying this apparently very political picnic.

“Girl,” Mermista says, and Adora realizes she’d zoned out again. Mermista isn’t even looking at her, though, she’s staring off at—at Catra and Perfuma. Of course. “Do they make them all like that in the Fright Zone?”

Adora gapes at her. “No,” she says, her brain so startled that it lets her mouth open without any input. “No, they—no one’s like that. No one else is—I mean, like what?”

“Not that I care, or whatever,” Mermista says quickly. “Ugh.”

It’s very unconvincing, and Adora doesn’t miss the quickly suppressed but very appreciative look when Catra leaps into a tree in a couple of short bursts to grab a ribbon the wind blew away from Perfuma. She bows, courtly, when she hands it back, and Perfuma giggles. The stick snaps in Adora’s hands.

“Uh,” Mermista says, and Adora realizes she’s glaring daggers at two—well, one perfectly innocent person and Catra. “I’m going to go…figure out what way Sea Hawk’s decided to be a dumbass and ruin my life today. You go ahead and do whatever you’re doing.”

Adora tries to protest, but her teeth are still ground together and it takes precious seconds for her to unclench her jaw. By the time she can speak, Mermista is long gone, and Adora gives up, going to collapse next to Glimmer and Bow, both peacefully cloud watching and ignoring their new guests from the Fight Zone. “Am I the _only one_ ,” she says loudly, and they both jump, smiling up at her in welcome once they realize who it is, “who remembers that Catra is _evil_?”

“No!” Glimmer says gratifyingly quickly, jumping in the same way she always does whenever Adora needs backup. “Of course not! Catra: totally evil. Right, Bow?”

“Catra: totally evil,” he agrees, and Adora slumps in relief. “Er, but…”

She jerks up to sit straight, staring down at him. “But?”

He grins at her apologetically. “She’s also kind of fun?”

“ _Bow!_ ”

“Sorry! But, you know, Adora…” He trails off, and then he shrugs. “It’s been a really long time since the war ended. She’s probably changed.”

 _But she’s not_ supposed _to change_ , Adora nearly yells, and she bites her lip to keep it from coming out. On its heels is a whisper: _But_ I _haven’t_. She swallows that too.

“Bow!” Glimmer says, giving him a shove. “Friends don’t let friends have archnemeses alone.” She pats Adora’s arm comfortingly. “It’s okay, Adora. I still think she’s evil.”

 

 

_Village of Thaymor, twelfth day of Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

Adora loves children, because children love She-Ra unquestioningly: if she transforms because she heard an odd sound and is convinced the war is starting up again, they think it’s cool, not cause for concern. All the same, children are also completely infuriating, because it turns out you can’t just grab them and shake them until they do what you want. She learned that one the hard way. And it turns out that children who weren’t raised by Shadow Weaver hear ‘stop’ and think ‘continuing to do this would be a fun game.’

Say what you like about Adora’s childhood, at least she did what she was told. Except that she was told to do evil, and once she found that out, she did stop doing what she was told, so—hmm.

“Hey!” she yells, trying desperately to remember how she’d been told to speak and act with kids. It’s more natural now than it used to be, but her heart is hammering, and she can barely think, and it’s a miracle she remembers she had lessons at all. “Hey, um—please stop! Please give that back!” Her hand opens and closes helplessly, clutching at nothing at all, and she casts a desperate glance at her friends, but Glimmer and Bow are too busy with politics to catch her eye, and she knows there’s nothing obviously wrong—it’s just children playing. Just children playing.

Just children playing with her sword, that’s all. It’s in a sheath that locks, a precaution the queen insisted on as a tool to make her take an extra moment to think before using it, so the kids can’t hurt themselves with it, and that’s good, but—

But—

A hand comes out and snatches the collar of the boy in the lead, the one with Adora’s sword clutched between his hands. Catra lifts him up to eye level, totally calm and completely ignoring it when he whacks her leg with the sheath. She stares at him, and then she glances at Adora, her face inscrutable. When she looks back at the little boy, she says, sounding bored, “That’s a dumb toy. Want me to show you how to kick someone in the face from a standing position?”

“ _Yes_ ,” the boy shouts immediately, sounding rapturous.

“Cool.” Deftly, she grabs the sword out of his hands and tosses it at Adora’s feet. Their eyes meet, but only for a second before she’s turning away again, shaking the boy lightly. “Come on. Let’s hit things.”

Adora stares after her, reaching down slowly to curl her fingers around the hilt again. She feels her shoulders relax, just having a hand on it. Which Catra knew. If there is anyone in the entire world who would understand the drowning fear of being without a weapon, it’s someone else who grew up in the Fright Zone.

She turns back to the others, tripping over her own feet twice before she sinks down next to her friends at a table near the town center. They’re on a peace tour, apparently, showing the people of every kingdom that the princesses are getting along and abiding by the treaty and not likely to attack anyone any time soon.

“What I don’t get,” Glimmer is saying to Entrapta, and Adora makes herself focus on that, “is why you stayed with them after you realized the only reason we left you there is because we thought you were dead. We never would have otherwise! We were your friends.”

“Oh, sure,” Entrapta says cheerfully, inspecting an hors d’oeuvre with glee. “But by then, you know, Catra.”

“Catra _what?_ ” Glimmer says, looking annoyed. “Has anyone else noticed that whenever anything went wrong for us during the war, it was _always_ Catra’s fault?”

“I have!” Scorpia beams, absolutely thrilled. “Catra’s so clever that way.”

Glimmer stares at her blankly. “Right. But Entrapta, did Catra…what did Catra do?”

Entrapta frowns. “During the war? Well, she kidnapped you and Bow from the party, and then she convinced me you’d all abandoned me forever, and ooh, then she got me some really good First Ones technology, which—”

Mermista makes an exasperated sound. “She means, how did Catra convince you to stay after all of that? Duh.”

“Oh!” Entrapta pops a piece of pastry into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “She didn’t.”

“Entrapta, honey, you just said she did,” Perfuma says, with the particular tight smile Adora suddenly remembers as ‘dealing with Entrapta.’ It’s been a while since she saw it.

“No, she started to, but I’d already decided to stay.”

“But you _said_ it was because of Catra,” Glimmer says, rubbing her forehead and cutting her eyes over to Adora for a brief but heartfelt moment of unified ‘fucking-Entrapta-am-I-right’ fellow feeling. Adora, struggling to follow the conversation herself, has to duck her head to hide a smile

“It was!”

“What, exactly,” Perfuma says, her smile getting wider and more brittle at the edges, “about Catra made you decide to stay with the _Evil Horde_? Who were evil? You did know they were evil?”

“I mean, it’s right there in the name, so of course!” Entrapta continues to smile broadly, and Perfuma looks as if she might be contemplating murder.

“But you decided to stay anyway.”

“Right!”

“Because of Catra.”

“Mm-hmm!”

“ _Because_ …?”

“Oh, because of her abandonment issues,” Entrapta says easily, for all the world as though it hasn’t been completely impossible to get her to this point in the conversation. “You know how she is!”

“I do,” Scorpia chimes in eagerly. “I know everything about Catra.” She beams at all of them, proud as if she’d just won a battle. “Catra doesn’t like being left.”

“That’s right!” Entrapta says. “So it didn’t seem right to leave. Also, she kept getting me all this _really cool_ technology, just because it was helpful for building killer robots, and I like building killer robots, so…”

She keeps going, but Adora stops paying attention. Catra doesn’t like being left. _I did that_ , she thinks, feeling the guilt pool in her stomach. But underneath it is a kind of savage pleasure: _That was me, I did that_ , she thinks again. _I was there, I left my mark. If someone looked at Catra’s heart, they’d still find me all over it, even if she wants to pretend otherwise._

She looks down at her sword, still in her hands, just where Catra put it, and grins.

 

 

_On the road, fifteenth day of Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

Somehow, Adora is in a carriage with Catra. Somehow, Adora is in a carriage _sitting next_ to Catra, and it doesn’t matter that Catra is looking away from her and out the window, it doesn’t matter that there’s a scrupulous six inches of space between them, it doesn’t matter that on the opposite seat Frosta and Mermista seem to be having a contest over who can be the least interested in making small talk. She’d say she isn’t sure how this happened, except she vividly remembers nudging in front of Perfuma to climb into this carriage, avoiding the looks Glimmer and Bow were giving her—surprised and embarrassingly knowing, respectively. She doesn’t remember making the decision, but she remembers doing it.

She tries to think of something to say—‘thank you for getting my sword back the other day,’ perhaps, or ‘are you sure you don’t care about me anymore, because I’m increasingly less convinced.’ But her tongue feels tied in knots by the space between their thighs, as if the air separating them is pressing down on her throat, stifling any words she might attempt.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can’t help staring. Catra sits with her elbow propped on the edge of the window, chin in her hand, watching the trees and sky rushing past them, a beautiful landscape neither of them could’ve dreamed of seeing in peace when they were growing up. She looks distant. She was never this still when they were children. Then again, Adora was never this anxious—so maybe they have changed.

Adora’s stomach clenches, roiling, almost nauseated. It shouldn’t be this hard to share space with Catra. It should be natural, like breathing. Instead, when Catra twists her head just so, cracking her neck, Adora almost jumps out of her skin. She leans back on the carriage, letting the rumble of movement shake her body, like that’ll shake the tension out of her. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to look anymore, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have to look to know exactly how far apart they are.

She evens out her breathing and, without letting herself think about why, slowly pretends to drift off, slip into a deep sleep. As she does, she lets her head loll to one side, nearer and nearer to Catra, because if she pretends—

If she’s asleep, Catra can’t blame her. If she’s asleep, it’s not because she _wants_ to, not because for some reason she’s dying for them to touch again, it’s just…an accident. A twist of fate. Out of her control.

She must be a bare inch away from Catra’s shoulder now, and she represses a hard gulp, doesn’t let her breathing change its pattern. It would take so little effort to let her head fall through the last tiny gap, but her neck’s stiff and she can’t seem to move. The space between them is electrified, all the tension and history condensed into a distance the width of two fingers. Once upon a time, Catra slept curled at the foot of the bed they shared, and now Adora can’t even pretend to fall asleep on her shoulder.

Catra will shake her off. Catra will push her away. Catra will laugh and say something horribly cruel, because Catra doesn’t want anything to do with her anymore. Maybe Catra isn’t indifferent, but that doesn’t mean she wants to speak or share the same space or touch.

And then the air shifts, and she hears the rustle of clothing against the seat cushions as someone moves, and there’s a shoulder beneath her head.

It takes sheer, iron-willed self-control to keep her from jerking like she’s been slapped, to keep a gasp from disturbing her breathing. Her new pillow is bony and hard with tension; it’s the least comfortable place she’s ever slept, and Adora wants to shout with something like joy or triumph. If once upon a time she couldn’t sleep without Catra’s breathing lulling her, now the sound of it is making her blood thrum with excitement. It’s too much; it’s not enough.

She curls her body closer as if unconsciously, letting her body slump so the side of her face is nestled against Catra’s collarbone, her spine curving to bring them together. She’s cuddled up against the side of someone who’s loved her, lost her, tried to kill her.

And Catra lets her. Catra shifts even closer, as if to make her more comfortable. Maybe if she hadn’t, if every exhale weren’t a physical, tangible thing, Adora wouldn’t hear her whisper, “Shit.”

Huh.

 

 

_Ballroom at Kingdom of Snows, twentieth day of Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

Adora looks up from a plate of food at yet another party, and meets Catra’s eyes, unsurprised—she’d seen her coming. Catra’s tail gives a single annoyed flick at the lack of reaction, and Adora smirks. “Hey, Catra.”

Another tail lash. “You’ve been staring at me. And smiling.”

Adora thinks about it. “Yeah.”

Catra hisses at her. “ _Whatever_.” She pivots on a bare foot and stalks away, but that’s all right—Adora’s already won that conversation.

 

 

_Hallway in Bright Moon Palace, twenty-eighth day of Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

“Hey, Catra,” Adora says as they pass each other in the halls of the palace at Bright Moon.

It’s gratifying to see Catra’s eyes snap over, tension rippling over her shoulders, even though she doesn’t break stride. “Hey, Adora,” she says coolly, but she couldn’t hide that first, unguarded, wary reaction.

Adora stops walking. “I’m going to ask you a question.”

Catra whirls to face her. “Are you? Well, I guess I can’t _stop_ you.”

Adora rolls her eyes and, delighted, gets to see Catra lose control and bare her teeth for just a second. “Yeah, I guess you can’t.” She hesitates, eyes skittering over the tight line of Catra’s clenched jaw. In moments like this, she can’t believe she means nothing to this woman, to her best friend, to her worst enemy. “Why the peace treaty? I thought what you wanted was to win the war.”

“What would you know about what I wanted?” Catra snaps. “I wanted—” She looks away, and Adora sees her hands clench into fists. “I wanted to lead the Horde, and I got that,” she says, her voice tight, but it’s clearly not what she’d been about to say. “The rest was—it was a long war. If I wanted anything else, and I hadn’t gotten it by then, I wasn’t going to.”

“Oh,” Adora says carefully.

Catra glares at her. She turns to go, and then jerks herself back, leaning forward on her toes, getting into Adora’s space. “The peace treaty was an olive branch,” she hisses, making it sound like an insult.

Adora stares at her. “Of course it was. It was a peace treaty.”

“Oh, for—” Catra’s hands clench in her pants in a quick jerk, a flash of movement, and the fabric rips loudly. “ _Fuck_ you, Adora.”

 

 

_Ballroom at Bright Moon Palace, thirty-first day of Fifth Anniversary Celebrations_

“So,” Glimmer says carefully to Mermista, “you and Sea Hawk have broken up?” _Again_ goes unsaid by them all, as they studiously don’t glance over to where Sea Hawk is face-first in the punch and loudly singing sea shanties about lost love. While sobbing.

Mermista shrugs. “Yeah, I guess, or whatever.” She does look over, and then she scoffs. “He’s so annoying. Ugh.”

“He seems very upset,” Perfuma says dubiously.

“He should get over it.” Mermista rolls her eyes. “Jeez, like it’s such a big deal.”

“How could he _get over_ it?” a voice says hotly, and Adora only realizes when everyone turns to her with wide eyes that it was hers. She feels herself color, but that doesn’t seem to stop her mouth, which goes on, “People don’t just get over things because you want them to. Especially not their—not someone who really matters to them. People think about that, _forever_ , and just because you don’t or don’t want them to or think they shouldn’t—people shouldn’t get over that! People _don’t_ get over that! _I_ don’t—” She forces herself to take a deep breath. And then another. “I don’t think you’re being fair to him. Is all.”

Mermista’s glaring at her, but her lips are also trembling a little. “Fine,” she says. “ _Take_ his side.”

She stomps off, and Perfuma hurries after her, but not before saying, sounding reproachful, “Everyone deals with things in their own way, you know.”

“No, I—” Adora presses the palm of her hand to her forehead. “I know,” she mutters.

Glimmer pats her on the back supportively. “It’s okay,” she starts to say, but everything else is drowned out by the rush of blood in Adora’s ears as she raises her head and looks directly into Catra’s eyes, standing beside a buffet table twenty feet away. They stare at each other for thirty-seven heartbeats, and then Catra turns sharply and leaves.

“—as long as he isn’t setting anything in my castle on fire,” Glimmer finishes.

“Er,” Bow says.

“Oh. Oh, _no_. Come on, Adora.”

“Um,” she says. “Yeah, um—just a second.”

“…Adora?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine, just, you guys go, I’ll be—I just need a second,” she says weakly, feeling her way to a chair and sinking down into it. She barely registers waving off their concern and their worried insistences that they’ll be right back once the fire’s out. She braces her hands on her knees and tries to do the breathing exercises meant to keep her heart rate down in the field, even though her mind’s stuttering and skipping like a broken piece of tech. Somewhere on the side of the room, something’s burning; somewhere on the side of the room, Glimmer sounds thoroughly annoyed (but not in danger, even her largely unconscious brain notes). She can’t manage to pin her thoughts on that, but when Catra comes back in, she notices, and she knows when Catra sees her notice. Their eyes lock.

Catra doesn’t look away from her once, just steps through the room like she doesn’t need to pay attention to such petty concerns as other people getting in her way. Meeting Adora’s eyes the entire time, she stops next to a trash can and very, very deliberately drops something in. Then she jerks her chin up, breaks their eye contact, and walks away.

Adora is out of her seat before she thinks about it, viscerally reminded of a different party, a different trash can. This time, she manages to walk over slowly enough, reach in gently enough, that she thinks she probably doesn’t look like a crazy person. It’s easier to find what Catra left, too—there’s an envelope, uncrumpled and pristine, with _Hey, Adora_ printed cleanly on the front. She draws it out with shaking hands, ducking quickly into a hallway and leaning against the wall, barely managing to rip it open and pull out the piece of paper.

 _Hey, Adora_ , it reads. _You moron. You stupid idiot. You are the biggest dumbass in the entire world, and I don’t know what Shadow Weaver thought she saw in you if you really don’t know that everything I’ve ever done has always been about you. You haven’t moved on? You don’t think I should? Fine: sometimes I want to kiss you, and sometimes I want to punch you, but I’ve never been able to ignore you. Come find me._

Adora takes a gasping breath, pressing her hand to her mouth, and then she’s pushing off the wall and running. She stuffs the letter into a pocket of her dress, almost tearing the cloth in her haste, her legs eating up the corridors of the palace as she races to the stairs. Finding Catra’s never been hard for her.

And it isn’t. Catra’s standing next to a window on an upper level, her elbows braced on the sill as she looks out. She looks over slowly when Adora stumbles to a halt, panting. “Hey, Adora,” she says.

Adora comes up with and discards five different opening statements, and then she says, “I’m stupid? _You’re_ stupid.” And then she throws herself at Catra, whose claws tangle painfully in her hair, and they’re kissing, kissing.

“Idiot,” Catra snaps fondly when they break apart. She presses her lips to Adora’s neck and then turns it into a sharp bite. “Come on, Adora. I’ve never gotten over anything in my entire life.”

Adora laughs. “Of course not,” she says. “Me neither.”

**Author's Note:**

> It takes a village to write a 5k She-Ra fic, apparently, because planning done with help from [Liz](https://moving-bean.tumblr.com), and editing done by [Rose](https://acommonrose.tumblr.com) and [Alix](https://jewishsuperfam.tumblr.com), because I disputed a formatting edit, called in support (who gave me a totally different opinion from both mine and the original opinion), and the situation had to be resolved by me announcing I Do What I Want. Whoops? But this would still be a whole lot worse (or not exist) without every single one of those people, so thank you VERY MUCH.
> 
> If you liked it, leave me a comment here or on [tumblr](https://attilarrific.tumblr.com), or give the [tumblr post](https://attilarrific.tumblr.com/post/182065971466/unjust-weak-resentful-but-never-inconstant) a reblog!


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